The night advanced over Mystic Falls with that dense silence that only the city seemed to know. Outside, the streets were almost empty, illuminated only by the ancient lampposts that cast yellowish patches on the asphalt. The moon, high and unperturbed, observed everything with a calm far too ancient, as if it had already witnessed other secrets of that land.
In one of the oldest parts of the city, belonging to one of the founding families, the Salvatores, stood the famous Salvatore Boarding House. The mansion rested under the night sky with a silent grandeur, revealed only by the soft light escaping from the windows scattered across the facade.
The light roof discreetly reflected the moon's glow, creating a icy contrast with the deep shadows enveloping the dark brick walls. The tall trees in front projected long and irregular silhouettes over the lawn, like motionless sentinels guarding the property. The central entrance, partially hidden by the shadows, gained an even more mysterious air, while the vegetation close to the base of the mansion formed dark patches that blended with the night itself.
Inside, the atmosphere was different: quiet, muffled by the timid sound of the wind passing through the cracks in the wood. The smell of old books, ancient dust, and burned firewood spread softly through the hall.
The fireplace crackled low in the living room, the light dancing across the walls, projecting long shadows on the antique furniture. And right there, on the sofa near the fire—that dark leather one, worn at the corners, cushioned enough for someone to sink into it without noticing—was Stefan Salvatore.
The diary lay open on his left knee, the clean and careful handwriting running across the pages. The pen moved without haste, as if he were writing something important.
"Today... I couldn't approach her."
The tip of the pen paused for a second.
The fire crackled as if responding.
"Unexpectedly, one of her childhood friends appeared right at the same time I decided I would seek her out. And, in the end, it seems all my determination to pursue my own happiness was useless. I even went to the cemetery because I knew she would be there. I spent days watching... I know she usually goes in the afternoon, to visit her parents' grave, and always spends some time writing in her diary. Of course, I also wanted to take the opportunity to visit the graves of the people I've known over the past one hundred and forty-five years. At least that made the trip there not seem completely useless..."
"... But I think, maybe, it's better this way. This way, she doesn't get involved with me and doesn't run the risk of being dragged into the kind of world I live in. Besides... Ryan seems like a better option for her than I am. She was happy by his side and seemed to have completely forgotten the sadness and melancholy..."
Stefan rested his forearm on the sofa's armrest, closing his eyes for a moment as if trying to reorganize his own thoughts—a futile attempt.
He opened his eyes slowly, shifting his gaze to the fire, where the embers glowed like small pulsating memories.
The pen returned to the paper, firm but with an almost melancholic weight.
"That's what I should say... but I can't just let it go. I needed to meet her. She's so different... so different from everything I expected. I know what I did was wrong, but I ended up researching her childhood friend. Ryomen Sukuna, that's his full name. Japanese, but for some reason, he prefers to be called Ryan. He moved here when he was younger and lived in Mystic Falls for several years before returning to Japan some time ago. And, apparently, something brought him back. Now he's living alone in an apartment downtown. That's all I could find out... by hypnotizing some of the older residents of the city."
Another pause.
"... Being honest, a part of me did think about hypnotizing him to make him stay away from Elena, or even to make him go back to Japan. That way, I could approach her more easily. I want to do it... but I don't think I'm strong enough. The animal blood diet is making me weaker every day; I notice my hypnotizing ability is becoming less effective with each passing day. Besides... I know it wouldn't be right. I can't redeem myself from my mistakes if I keep repeating exactly the same ones."
"All I can do is try my best to show Elena that I can be the right person for her. Tomorrow... I'll try to talk to her."
Stefan slowly closed the diary, running his hand over the leather cover with an almost reverent care. The silence filled the room again, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the fire and the ancient clock ticking the hours on the wall.
He leaned his head back on the sofa, staring at the fireplace as if he could find answers in the flames.
But all he found was the same restless feeling.
Stefan took a deep breath, as if he needed to pull back into his lungs the part of himself that had gotten trapped between the diary's pages. Only then did he stand up from the sofa, the leather creaking softly under his weight.
The room seemed even larger when he stood, empty, silent, too laden with memories that belonged to no one but him.
He walked to the small wooden cabinet beside the bookshelf, the old bar with its dark top and bottles lined up like relics. The fire's reflection danced in the amber glass as he reached out, pulling the whiskey bottle he knew so well. When he removed the cork, a strong and warm aroma rose, filling the air like a brief memory...
Stefan poured the glass slowly. The golden liquid flowed like honey under the fireplace light. No rush—his movement had that typical melancholic care of someone who lives too long and feels too much.
He raised the glass, observing the color for a second.
It almost looked like blood under that lighting.
Giving a half-tired smile, he took the first sip.
The alcohol went down burning, bringing with it a warmth that meant absolutely nothing to someone like him.
Stefan leaned his hip against the bar and stayed there for a few seconds, swirling the glass between his fingers. The fire crackled behind him, spreading shadows that climbed the walls as if the past insisted on stretching out.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, a determined, irritated rhythm... familiar. Stefan didn't even need to look up to know who it was.
It was an older man, with fair skin, blue eyes, and a serious expression. His hair was short, wavy, and light brown, with a slight touch of gray at the sides, which reinforced his adult and experienced air. He also had a stubbly beard, as if not fully shaved, adding a more natural and slightly worn aspect. He wore a thick knit sweater in a grayish tone, with a higher, draped collar, typical of comfortable clothes for cold weather. This was his "nephew," one of his descendants and his brother's, whose name was Zachary "Zach" Salvatore.
Zach appeared in the hallway leading to the room, his expression heavy, shoulders tense, and jaw clenched. He held something in his hand, a folded newspaper sheet, crumpled by the firm grip of his fingers. His gaze swept the room, lingering first on the open bottle, then on the glass, and only then on Stefan himself.
"Seriously?" Zach let out, his voice low, laden with frustration: "You promised, Uncle Stefan..."
Stefan frowned, straightening his body.
"About what?"
Zach took a deep breath, as if trying, futilely, to keep his calm. He raised the newspaper article and handed it to Stefan, who set down the glass and took it with a furrowed brow. The article was about a couple who had disappeared and were found with their throats slashed and all the blood drained from their bodies.
Stefan narrowed his eyes.
"What is this?"
"Don't play dumb..." Zach shot back, crossing his arms: "Two people disappeared, and their bodies were found on the old road earlier. Throats open, blood drained. All that's missing is your signature..."
Stefan slowly raised his gaze.
"This must have been an animal attack. It wasn't me who did this..."
"It wasn't?" Zach laughed without humor: "Uncle Stefan, every time a blood trail appears in this city, people might think it was an animal attack. But I know the truth, and so does the Council. You said everything was under control!"
"And it is..." Stefan frowned and said: "If I had killed a person, you would know..."
"I don't know if I do..." Zach retorted, frustration nearly overflowing: "You've lost control before. Who guarantees it won't happen again? Who guarantees it hasn't happened?"
The silence that followed was tense, thick.
In the end, Zach let out a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his hair while staring at Stefan with that tired and distrustful look that only he had.
"Please, Uncle Stefan. Mystic Falls is a different place now." His voice wasn't aggressive; it was weary, like someone who had already fought too much with his own family history. "It's been peaceful for years, but there are still people who remember. And your presence here will only stir things up."
Stefan took a second before responding, his expression neutral but laden: "That's not my intention."
Zach crossed his arms and asked with a furrowed brow: "Then what is? Why did you come back? After all this time, why now?"
Stefan frowned and said: "I don't need to explain myself."
Zach's jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, trying not to lose his patience.
"I know you can't change who you are." His voice grew lower. "But you don't belong in this place anymore."
Stefan raised his gaze, firm but with a shadow of melancholy.
"Where do I belong?"
Zach hesitated. The answer didn't come immediately, because he didn't have one. He just shook his head, taking a step back.
"I can't tell you what to do..." He murmured. "But coming back here was a mistake."
Without waiting for a response, Zach turned and left the room, leaving only the distant echo of his heavy footsteps through the mansion.
Stefan stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the hallway where Zach had exited, the nephew's words still echoing in his mind. Frustration mixed with a deep weariness, a fatigue that came from centuries carrying the same dilemmas, the same losses. He turned his gaze back to the newspaper he still held in his hands. He took a deep breath and, with a slow movement, finished drinking the liquid from the glass, the warmth of the alcohol going down his throat and leaving a slight burn that made no difference to someone who had already felt much deeper pains...
With the newspaper now free in his hand, he headed to the fireplace. Reaching the front of the fire, he looked for a moment at the embers that still flickered. Without hesitating, he threw the newspaper into the fire. The flames engulfed the pages almost immediately, and the smell of burning paper rose quickly, mixing with the smoke that snaked through the room's air. He watched the fire consume the news, the words disappearing in the flames, and felt a strange relief. It solved nothing, of course, but at least it had removed from his sight that disturbing reminder of what had happened out there. He leaned against the fireplace mantel again, his tense shoulders relaxing minimally as the crackling of the fire seemed to respond to his unease.
He stayed there for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on the flames, letting the false warmth of the fireplace try to ward off the cold in his body.
With a silent sigh, he stepped away from the fireplace, his fingers sliding over the cold marble edge before releasing the air slowly. The silence of the mansion seemed to weigh even more now, echoing every step he took toward the front door.
Stefan opened the door carefully, feeling the night air invade the house, cold and cutting, but invigorating in a way that only the outside world could be.
He closed the door behind him, the creak of the hinges echoing through the empty hall, and walked out to the street.
The high moon bathed the trees and rooftops, casting long shadows that danced gently with the wind.
The walk was a necessity, a way to dispel the accumulated tension and, perhaps, find clarity. He put his hands in the pockets of his dark coat, feeling the night's cold contrast with the frustration and the warmth of the alcohol still circulating in his veins, and simply kept walking, letting the night swallow his solitary figure, allowing his thoughts to calm, even if temporarily.
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